The Enemy You Know
by andarscorner
Summary: An ancient power has come to the attention of the Noxian High Command. Has this mystic power finally met its match at the hands of Noxus?
1. Chapter 1

Garen sighed and looked around. His Demacian comrades were silent, some sitting by the fires, others in their tents, a few playing cards. They all knew they were surrounded by the Noxians, and they all knew that the kingdom could not spare any more forces to help them. Garen knew that the younger ones had already shed their tears, and the seasoned warriors had a look in their eye that told him they were way out of their depths. But what could he do? He was the most senior officer left alive, he had to inspire the men, to encourage them to go to their deaths with honour, and to take as many of those heartless bastards out with them as they could.

The night was almost over, and Garen thought he could see the first tips of the sun's spears poking over the top of the mountains off to the east. Grimly, Garen realised that he had only ever seen the sun rise twice before, and now this third time would be his last. He knew Sarah would be at home, with the children; she always worried about him. She had never really had a reason to until now.

Garen was broken out of his thoughts by the distant sound of a horn. All activity in the camp ceased. The horn's cry was answered by another horn off away to the west, and then another down to the south. All eyes turned to Garen.

"On your feet, men of Demacia!" he bellowed. "Today, we die for our lands!" His men immediately dropped everything, and the previously silent camp became a bustle of orders, swearing and the readying of armours and weapons. Men rushed past Garen as he strode through the camp, picking up his sword as he headed towards the main fire in the centre of the camp. He hadn't even bothered to take his armour off.

Dimly, Garen was aware that something had changed in the camp. Something did not feel right. He had been in the military ever since he could lift a sword, and now had an innate sense of whether something was right or not, and something was definitely wrong. Then he saw him.

Standing beside the fire, his entire body covered by a dark brown cloak, was a figure. His face was masked by the hood of the cloak and the shadows cast by the fire, but Garen immediately sensed that this soldier was powerful.

"Hold, sir!" he shouted at the unknown warrior. The knights around him had seen the figure too, and now a noticeable amount of spears, swords and bows were trained on him, though he had not reacted at all, just stood completely still with his entire figure covered. "Who are you, and how did you get in to our camp?"

Still the figure did not react. Garen strode up to him, his sword arm ready to strike. Just as he was about to reach forward and remove the hood, the figure swiftly reached up and pulled the hood back. The sudden reaction made Garen jump, and he leapt back and levelled his sword with the warrior's neck. But it was the man's face that startled him the most; his features were completely white, with two small, completely red eyes piercing out from under the odd grey scale that formed his forehead.

Before Garen could react even further, the man threw the cloak off himself, the two huge red wings that had been concealed under the cloak now flexing behind the figure. He appeared to be wearing armour made of a similar kind of material to the grey plate on his head; in his right hand that was encased in a huge gauntlet, was a large horned helmet that he now carefully equipped. Protruding from the ground, previously covered by the immensity of the cloak, was the most evil-looking sword that Garen had ever seen. It was nearly six feet long from pommel to tip, and appeared to have a long red miasma as a core, with three edges comprised of multiple, wicked-looking shards of metal.

Everything in his body told Garen that this figure was not to be trusted, and yet he felt that he meant them no harm. Slowly, he lowered his sword, to the questions and exclamations of his troops.

"Name yourself and your purpose, sir" said Garen, remarkably calmly.

"My name is immaterial. I am here to help you. The Noxian army is, as we speak, closing in on you. There is little to no hope left for you, unless you heed me. You are stronger warriors, have better discipline and equipment, and are fighting for your lives, something that will give you strength beyond measure." The man's voice had a strange echo to it, as though it were not just one voice saying the words. His tone cut right into Garen's heart, and though the voice sounded inherently alien, the words it spoke somehow made complete sense to Garen.

"And why should we trust you?" shouted a soldier to Garen's left.

The warrior appeared to give a small grin. "If I wished to kill you, you would all be dead. But I wish to watch you triumph this day, and if you ever want to see your families again, I advise you to listen to me."

"Very well." Replied Garen, without even realising he had said it. "What would you suggest?"

"Follow me"

* * *

Aatrox deflected the swipe from the Noxian blade, spun in a deft circle and opened the throats of both the man attacking him, and the two soldiers next to him. The blood flowed straight from their wounds to the sword, and Aatrox felt their life force feeding in to him. He ducked the wild spear stab that came towards his head, batting the soldier off with an effortless flick of his wing. He pivoted on one foot, reversed his grip on his sword and plunged it through the prone soldier, the momentum carrying it through all the way in to the ground. Without thinking he punched out with his right hand, the cruel gauntlet slamming through the chest of the swordsman who had tried to sneak up on him. The soldier died instantly and fell to the ground, the blood spurting from his chest being drawn to Aatrox's blade.

The slaughter was truly glorious to behold; Aatrox himself had slain countless numbers of the Noxian soldiers, and the Demacians were almost keeping up with him. They were outnumbered at least ten to one, but somehow they were managing to carve a crimson path through the hordes, some of whom now appeared to be realising that this battle was not actually going the way they thought it would. In the distance he could see a huge figure, clad in armour and wielding a huge axe bellowing commands at the soldiers. One of the terrified soldiers turned to flee, and without a second thought the knight swung his axe and decapitated the soldier, the axe's enormous blade slicing cleanly through the bone and flesh. The soldiers surrounding the spectacle instantly returned to the battle, evidently not wishing to suffer the same fate.

Aatrox turned to the soldier he had impaled, gripped the sword's handle with both hands and swung round, bringing his sword down in a brutal sweep. The strike was parried, and just as he was about to slam his shoulder into his adversary, he realised it was the Demacian knight he had spoken with before. They locked eyes, and shared a moment of recognition that only two soldiers fighting for their lives know. Aatrox grinned and slid the sword past the Demacian's blade, over his shoulder and through the face of the Noxian behind him. The knight ducked under Aatrox's arm and charged off, issuing the name of his city as a brutal war cry.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aatrox saw a Demacian soldier being set upon by three Noxians who were all slashing at him with cruel looking swords. The Demacian was putting up a good fight, but he was bleeding profusely from various wounds, and it was clear that he would not be able to fight on much longer. Aatrox concentrated for less then a second and felt the power of his blade click; he swung his blade in a horizontal arc, the blade's power slashing out and send an ancient power towards the Noxians. The purple magic slammed into them; they fell to the ground and did not get back up. The Demacian nodded his thanks, then swore and pointed behind Aatrox.

"We must save Garen!" he cried.

The knight was in the midst of the Noxian troops. slashing with his enormous blade. As Aatrox watched, he spun in a circle and cleaved the five soldiers around him, but there were many more and Garen was on his own. Aatrox leapt into the air, jumping towards Garen. He pushed forward through the air with his wings, over the heads of the Noxian and Demacian soldiers below him. As he came down he brought his sword towards the neck of the nearest Noxian soldier; the swipe cut him from shoulder to hip, the top half sliding off and hitting the ground with a wet thud. Aatrox turned to his left and rammed his sword upwards, stabbin the Noxian who was threatening to execute Garen through the chin and upwards until the blade protruded through the top of his head.

Suddenly Aatrox felt an immense pain spread through his shoulders. A Noxian assassin had caught him unawares, and plunged a blade deep between his shoulder blades. Aatrox fell to one knee, unable to think past the pain in his back. He could do nothing but watch the assassin pull out another knife, and move to slit his throat. With grim determination Aatrox lashed out at him with his gauntlet, but the assassin sidestepped it easily. From out of nowhere, an enormous gold and blue sword dropped from the sky, cutting straight through the assassin and splitting him in two. Aatrox turned to see Garen, his own sword plunged in the ground looking at his handiwork.

"That" he said, turning to Aatrox "is the justice we serve in Demacia."

The blood that was now staining the very earth from the assassin now began to flow, as if it were a river, towards Aatrox's sword. Aatrox felt the power of the assassin seep into his body, and the pain began to subside. In less than ten seconds it was gone completely. He wouldn't even have a scar.

"Weakling!"

Aatrox turned to see the Noxian knight he had witnessed executing his own troops earlier standing in front of him, his huge axe pointing towards him and Garen.

"You have killed the slave warriors. They are nothing. I am Darius, the Hand of Noxus, and you shall suffer death by my hand!"

Darius leaped towards Garen, slamming the pommel of his axe into the Demacian's stomach. Garen was thrown off his feet by the force of the blow, and Darius leapt in the air, swinging his axe over his head and down towards Garen's chest. Aatrox dived forward, blocking the force of the blow with his sword. His momentum carried him bodily into Darius, throwing the knight back. The fury was evident in eyes as he rushed forward towards Aatrox. He swung his axe upwards, seeking to slash Aatrox in the face, but Aatrox ducked underneath the swing and lashed out with his wing, pushing Darius away. The Noxian lashed out with his axe, using the wicked hook that it formed to pull Aatrox towards him. The two warriors were eye to eye for just a second, before Darius darted forward and headbutted Aatrox square between the eyes.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't realise that they grey skin on the top of his head was harder than stone, and Darius stumbled backwards, taken aback by the pain now coursing through his head. His forehead was now cut, but he appeared to shake it off, the anger of him being made a fool of fueling him to continue fighting.

"Retreat, Noxian." growled Aatrox.

"I do not retreat" snapped back Darius. "I carve my path through the world, you and your pathetic magic can not halt the rise of Noxus". With that, Darius let out a mighty roar and slashed in a horizontal circle with his axe, which Aatrox deflected by sweeping his sword upwards.

With a great cry of "For Demacia!" Garen leapt at the Noxian, catching both he and Aatrox off guard. Garen lunged forward with his sword, stabbing it through Darius' shoulder. Darius froze for a moment, then looked down at the huge blade immersed in his shoulder. His axe fell to the ground with a clang, shortly before Darius slumped to his knees. Garen wrenched the sword out, a gout of blood issuing forth after it.

"You... shall... regret... this day" Darius stammered. He fell forward and lay still.

That appeared to be the last straw for the majority of the Noxian troops. The ones who had witnessed the spectacle threw down their weapons and attempted to clamber over the ones behind them in their haste to escape. Aatrox concentrated, and extended his consciousness to the Demacian troops. Hunt them down. For Demacia. Leave none alive.


	2. Chapter 2

Darius awoke with a jerk. He was lying in his bed, and no sooner had he opened his eyes than an incredible pain shot through his shoulder. Looking down, he saw his torso wrapped in bandages, the ones around his shoulder stained a brownish-red.

"Morning, brother" came a voice from the other side of the room. Darius looked over to see Draven sitting on a chair, idly twirling his moustache, an evil smirk playing around his lips.

"What happened?" Darius asked. He tried to sit up in his bed, but the pain was too great and his shoulder and arm too weak, so he was forced to lie where he was.

"You lost."

"What?"

"You lost. That Demacian prick put a sword through you, the troops broke, you lost." Now Draven's smile was open on his face.

"And what are you grinning about?" snapped Darius. Draven looked at the floor, gave a short chuckle and stood up. He walked over to the bedside and leaned over, meeting his brother's fierce gaze. He clapped a hand to his shoulder, and Darius felt a bolt of pain shoot through his entire body. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but made sure not to break eye contact. Draven's smile was gone.

"Ever since we were little, you were always the big one. The mighty Darius! The fiercest of them all. My bigger, better brother. We both kept each other alive when we were orphaned, but you were the one who got the credit and the fame. And now" Draven increased his grip on Darius' shoulder, forcing him to breathe heavily from his nose. "you got beat!"

"I'm glad you find this so funny, little brother" Darius retorted "but I would have bested both of them in a fair fight."

"Well, keep telling yourself that." said Draven, his smile now playing across his lips again. "But what's troubling Swain more is this shadow knight that fought with the Demacians. We've heard reports from all over Runeterra about this figure; he always seems to appear when troops are massively outnumbered, and always seems to be able to turn the tide of battle."

"So what does Swain want to do?"

"He doesn't want to do anything. This figure is a relatively unknown force to us. However, we've also had reports that there's some kind of archaeologist who has done extensive research into this, and Swain wants you to hunt him down."

Darius gave Draven a look.

"I can't until my shoulder heals." Darius considered for a moment. Then an idea came to him. As he thought about it more and more, it made more and more sense. "Send The Blade's Shadow. He'll find him."

* * *

Talon was perched on the top of one of the seemingly endless houses of Piltover, the streets below totally oblivious to the shadowy figure crouching on their rooftops. Talon looked out over the sprawling city; it was all constructed around the central university that stood as a huge white shard stabbed into the top of the mountain of Piltover. Off away to the west was the coast of Valoran, and Talon's honed eyesight could make out the white ships of the merchant fleet, preparing for their journeys to places all across Runeterra. The terraced houses and many houses of study were punctuated with the industrial funnels of factories and the huge structures of the workhouses where the skilled workers of Piltover crafted their machines.

But Talon had not travelled the width of Valoran to observe the Piltovian architecture. He had been asked to go on a special mission by that meat-headed axe spinner; normally Talon would have told him to go to hell and learn to fight properly, but this one was different. Not only did Draven have the wishes of Jericho Swain and his older brother Darius behind him, but Talon was intrigued. This figure who had helped the Demacians could finally be a worthy adversary for Talon, and the archaeologist could also have some tales of interest. For once, Talon did not wish to kill this target, and was thankful that he had not been asked to; he had never been one for academia, but maybe this explorer could have items or articles of bladelore that Talon could use to further improve his skills.

Talon rotated on the balls of his feet, so that he was perched parallel to the rooftops. He breathed in, centering himself, and then dashed away, his feet barely making a sound as he ran. Not even the people in the rooms below would be aware of him. He came to a gap in the roofs and leapt gracefully across it, barely breaking his stride. He had learned the streets of Piltover long before this mission; he had only to locate which house the archaeologist lived in, commit it to memory, and then do what he had been doing all his life.

He slowed, noticing the house he needed. He dropped, hanging off the edge of roof, his body level with the top floor window. He let go with one hand, retrieving a small knife from his belt. Talon pressed the stiletto tip to the window and drew it around in a wide circle, cutting a hole out just large enough for him to fit through. With a flick of his knife he jerked the circle out, catching it before it dropped to the ground, resting it on the top of his knife in the palm of his hand. He reached up and lay the glass in the gutter, making sure that it would not slip and betray his position. Gripping the gutter again with both hands, Talon placed both his feet either side of the hole he had created. He pushed off the window, swinging himself back in and slipping through the open hole and into the room within.

Talon looked around. He had managed to slip into the archaeologist's bedroom, and saw him now lying fast asleep in his bed. Talon walked over to him, his footsteps making no noise at all on the carpeted floor. He slipped another knife out of his belt as he walked, and stopped at the edge of the bed. In one swift movement he placed a hand over the explorer's mouth, holding his knife to his throat as he did so. The boy woke with a start, the absolute terror undisguised in his eyes.

"Be silent. I have not come here to kill you. If you raise the alarm, I will slit your throat. I wish only for information." Talon whispered. The fear seemed to dull, but the archaeologist's eyes were still wide. "I am going to release you now. Please do not make any loud noises or sudden movements." Talon slowly took his hand away and sheathed his knife.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you in my house?" blurted the archaeologist. "And what the fuck have you done to my window?"

"My name does not matter. You are Ezreal, the explorer and archaeologist?"

The boy nodded. Though Talon knew him to be nearly a man, the boy's shoulder-length blonde hair and mousy features belied his years, giving him the impression of being much younger.

"What do you want?"

"I have been sent from Noxus to ask you about the shadow knight. The blood knight who turns the tide of battle when all seems lost."

At the mention of his homeland Ezreal's features displayed obvious disgust, but when Talon mentioned the dark figure he was searching for, a mask of surprise and excitement came across his face.

"I thought I was the only one who knew about him! I've been researching this guy for years, there's no one in all of Valoran who knows more about him than me! Follow me, I'll show you what I have." Ezreal hopped out of bed, his excitement clearly visible. He was wearing a grey shirt and shorts, and rather than getting dressed, he simply put on the brown gauntlet he had on his bedside table and hurried off out of the room. Talon followed; he was not an easily enticed man, but the excitement present in Ezreal's voice gave him no choice but to follow.

The archaeologist led him downstairs, to a wide front room. Ezreal flicked a switch and the whole room was illuminated by glowing crystals. Talon was about to ask how he had got hold of this technology, but thought better of it; Ezreal had a reputation for 'borrowing' things. Talon was led to a huge desk over in the corner which was a maelstrom of papers, artifacts, books and one particularly odd-looking dagger with a bone handle, the blade of which appeared to be carved out of glass. It was this that he showed to Talon first.

"This is a dagger from Freljord. The blade is carved from solid ice, which never melts! Anyway, look at the etching on the blade. That figure is the guy you're looking for, and the serrated design is the same as the sword on this urn." Here, Ezreal placed the dagger back on the desk and picked up an urn. "I got this from a ruin in the Shurima desert. It's dedicated to a warrior who turned up to save a warlord when he and his men were vastly outnumbered." Ezreal carefully placed the urn back on his desk and looked around to see Talon holding a small wooden figure.

"Is this the same warrior?"

"Yeah, I got that from Noxus." At the look Talon gave him, Ezreal shrank back a little and coughed. "Err, you can probably take that back. If you like. I don't need it. It's yours. But look at it! It's the same guy! Why is the same guy appearing in stuff from Noxus, Freljord and Shurima? He pops up in things from Demacia and here in Piltover as well."

"Do you know who he is?"

"From what I can make out, he's an ancient warrior who always appears at the last second when an army is about to be destroyed. He has some kind of power that boils the blood of everyone around him, turning the broken warriors he fights with into murderous butchers."

"Anything else?"

"Well, I think he might be part of a really old race, one that isn't in Runeterra any more. They might have been wiped out by the Rune Wars."

"So how do I find him?"

"As far as I know, you can't. He only ever seems to appear when an army is about to be annihilated. There's only one person that I know of who could help you, and he isn't exactly in the mood for talking to this warrior."

"Who is he?"

"Umm, he's the king of part of the Freljord. His name's Tryndamere. He was almost slain by this guy, but just survived, and now him and his queen are rulers of the Avarosa tribe, and rule over Rakelstake and the Ursine Villages."

"Very well. Thank you for your help. I present to you a gift from Noxus." Talon produced a card with a golden dagger on it. "If Noxus bears you ill will, and sends one of my brethren to remove you, then present them with this card. It will spare your life."

Ezreal looked down at the card, the incredulity apparent on his face.

"Err, thank-" he bagan. But Talon had already gone.

* * *

Talon was running back over the rooftops. He had learned a lot from the archaeologist. Now he had only to return to Noxus and relay the information to Swain and Darius. As he rushed silently over the rooftops in the warm Piltovian night, he thought he heard a loud click and a buzz, as if someone had activated some kind of techmaturgy. Before even his enhanced reflexed could react, a huge ball of energy slammed into him from the side, knocking him clean off his feet. He felt the indescribable sensation of falling, and then nothing but blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

Jayce flicked the switch on his Mercury Hammer, reverting it back to it's original form. He laughed and began walking to the spot where the assassin had fallen. When would these Noxians learn? You come to Piltover and you risk suffering at the hands of it's law enforcement. As he walked he began whistling loudly; he always felt better after beating up a Noxian. He strolled down the alley and emerged near a fountain, the assassin he had shot lying prone in the street. But there was already a person standing over him.

"Evening Vi!" Jayce called out.

The woman turned around, her bright pink hair showing up even in the darkness. The Noxian was vaguely illuminated by the faint light coming off Vi's massive hextech gauntlets, and Jayce could see a cheeky smile playing around her lips. She had never been one to take things seriously, or be particularly conspicuous when it came to crime fighting, but she got the job done, and even Jayce couldn't deny that her and Caitlyn had dramatically reduced crime in his beloved Piltover.

"Hey Jayce." she replied, her tone, as always, playfully sarcastic. "Who's this guy?"

"Noxian. Caught him running away from Ezreal's place. Don't worry" he said, seeing that Vi's face had turned to one of worry "Ezreal's fine. No Caitlyn?"

Vi smirked. "Cupcake's off laying traps for those Yordles. That little bastard Ziggs has been playing havoc recently, he's worked out how to make a stink bomb and started to terrorise the first years at the Academy. What did this one want with Ezreal anyway?"

"No idea. Knowing Ezreal he's stolen something important from Noxus, or done something to piss someone off. Whatever it is, we should get him back to cells before he wakes up. We can ask him some questions in the morning."

"Sure thing."

Just as Jayce was about to pick the Noxian up, Vi grabbed the assassin's arm and swung him over her shoulders with a dexterity and strength that would have been surprising if you hadn't had much interaction with the enforcer. Some people had implied a budding romance between her and Jayce; the people who had said that to their faces had mysteriously ended up out cold hanging from the top floor of the university.

The two companions walked unafraid through the streets of Piltover; the one person potentially more dangerous than them was currently slung over Vi's shoulder. The only thing that upset Jayce was that none of the denizens of Piltover would know the price of their crime-free streets. But that was their job. Someone had to do it. And after their bodies were broken and their names were forgotten by the very people they protected, someone else would be there to fill their place. Jayce would make sure of it.

* * *

Katarina strode through the streets of Piltover, weaving her way through the crowds of people, merchants, academics and children, all blissfully unaware of the task she was about to carry out. She had known Talon for many years; they were as good as brother and sister since her father had adopted Talon, so it made sense that she had been picked to rescue him now. It had been less than a week since they had received news of his capture, and now here she was, stalking through the crowded streets, disguised in a long grey cloak. Ordinarily this would have drawn more attention to someone; these people were not daughters of General Du Couteau.

Up ahead was the maximum security jail of Piltover, it's main gate guarded by two somewhat lazy looking guards. Katarina slowed her pace down and changed her bearing completely; with the limp, the bend in her spine that looked like a hunch to any onlooker and the change to her voice these stupid guards would immediately mistake her for an elderly woman.

"Hold up." said the one on the left as she approached. "What's yer business?"

"I'm here to see my son, he was involved in a bar fight yesterday" Katarina replied, fooling the guards with ease.

"On you go then." said the guard on the right "And make sure you never let him get caught brawling again, or it'll be another night in the cells!" With that the guards waved her through.

Katarina limped through the door and into the wide atrium. There were a number of prison guards ambling around, some talking to each other, others talking to the various members of the public. Directly in front of her, across the black and white marbled floor, was a bored-looking guard sitting behind a large wooden desk; off to her left, was a corridor leading to a corner, around which Katarina knew there must be the cells. She limped towards it, the guards paying absolutely no attention whatsoever.

Turning the corner, Katarina first noticed the heavy iron door with a large lock in it, the owner of the key standing next to the door. Katarina barely had a moment to size him up; he was a large man, clad in heavier armour than the rest of the guards, and even though he had been out of sight of the majority of people, he gave the impression of having been alter the whole time, his hand already on the pommel of his sword. In a different life, he could have done well in Noxus.

Katarina threw off the cloak and darted forwards. She flash-stepped the entire length of the corridor appearing before the guard before he could do anything, jamming one of the small knives she had strapped to her thigh through his throat before he could shout for help.

"Nothing personal" she whispered, lowering him to the floor without a sound. Katarina unhooked the keys from his belt and opened the door, stepping through and dragging the body through after her.

She shut the door slowly, closing it with a small click. She spun around on her heels and marched off down the rows of cells, looking for the right ones. The inmates called out to her as she walked to past, some asking to be freed, some asking for even less hopeful acts. As she walked past one cell, a hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist.

"Hello there love" the prisoner growled through his three remaining teeth. "How's about you come join me in here and give me a hand having a good time?"

Katarina smiled sweetly at him. With her right hand she drew one of the large blades at her side and sliced the hand grasping her wrist clean off. "Why" she asked, still sweet "need one?"

She continued her search for Talon, the only sound in the long hallway the sound of her heels clicking as she walked, and the sound of the prisoner howling in pain.

"Katarina?"

She stopped outside Talon's cell. He was sitting cross-legged in the centre of his cell, his face looking quizzically up at her.

"Why are you here?"

"Nice to see you too brother." She replied sarcastically. "And I am here to break you out of this place. We need you and your information." With a flick of her wrist she picked the lock of his cell, the iron door swinging open with a creak.

Talon got to his feet and walked up to Katarina. "I have told you: we are not siblings. I was only taken in by your family, I am not a true Du Couteau." He looked at the floor.

Katarina his forearm in the warrior's embrace. "I don't care. My father bound you to our family so you are in our family. In my books, that makes us brother and sister, even if we're not blood." Talon returned her gaze with a steely determination, a half smile forming on his face.

"Oi!" came a shout from down the hallway. "You stop right there!" Standing over the body of the slain guard were three of his colleagues, their swords drawn and uncompromising fury in their eyes. "Put your weapons down! Now"

Katarina slowly placed the long blade on the floor. Without warning she sprung back up, drawing three small blades from behind her calf and flinging them out. They all hit their mark, felling each guard before they had a chance to move. Without a word she drew another of her short swords and handed it to Talon. They both ran off towards the exit.

Just as they were about to turn the corner two more guards appeared. Without breaking stride, Katarina leapt forward, spinning through the air and slitting the throats to the two guards as she passed them.

They burst out into the atrium and stopped immediately. Every guard in the place had their weapons drawn, and aimed at the two Noxians. Katarina swore under her breath; Talon said nothing. They did not have enough blades between them, were in an undesireable position and were outnumbered.

Suddenly, the door of the prison exploded inwards, taking out two of the guards as it flew in.

"This'll learn ya to set those traps ya pixie!" shouted a shrill voice. Katarina looked at where the door had been; standing there was a Yordle, his features oddly feline, no more than three and a half feet tall. There was a small ring in his left ear and in each hand he held two black bombs. As Katarina watched, he laughed maniacally and threw both into the room. Everyone, including Talon and Katarina threw themselves to the ground. With a loud crack, the two bombs exploded, releasing a haze of acrid black smoke into the atrium.

Katarina and Talon needed no second chance. They sprang to their feet, Katarina grabbing her discarded cloak as she did so. They dashed through the doorway, sprinting down the path. As they passed the Yordle, still cackling to himself and running as fast as he could, Katarina bundled him up in the cloak, to a chorus of swearing and struggling from the tiny creature.

The two stole away into the teeming crowds, and were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Ziggs was annoyed. These two big people had stolen him from Piltover and stuck him on this boat. That bit he didn't mind so much, it was always nice to get out every once in a while. The thing was that he couldn't use his toys on a boat; one slip and Ziggs was swimming for the shore. But it didn't matter now because he didn't have any bombs with him. They hadn't let him go home to get a few. So here he was, sitting on the deck of the ship trying to make some. He had managed to liberate some gunpowder from the canons of the ship, and by wrapping it up in some cloth he found (he suspected it might have been a spare sail but that didn't matter) he at least had something that would explode.

"Hey lady!" he called out. The big one with the leather and the big knives turned around and gave him a scary look. "Ya never told me where we're going."

"We are heading to Noxus. Talon and I are on a mission, so we need to return there."

"Huh. Never been. Do they have bombs there?"

"Yes. But not for you."

"Aww." Ziggs headbutted the floor in anger. "So what do you guys do there?"

"One day, I will tell you about Noxus. It's past, it's future, and it's present. But for now, stick to your toys." Ziggs could tell she was getting annoyed, so he asked another question.

"Why did you kidnap me anyways?"

The big woman gave a smile which gave Ziggs a funny feeling in his stomach. "You could be useful to us. You're obviously insane but also very good with explosives."

Ziggs was about to object to being called insane, but he had been called much worse, and the compliment after was worth it.

They had stolen the ship from Piltover two days ago and had been sailing since then, and were now at the north-west coat of Valoran. The two big ones had purposefully taken the smallest ship with the most provisions on it and had been doing all the sailing themselves - Ziggs had spent most of his time making bombs, eating and sleeping. He didn't really care where they were going as long as he was well fed and comfy at night, and he had managed to make a rather comfy little nest in hold where they kept all the spare sails.

Nonetheless, Ziggs was worried about Noxus; Ezreal had told him some awful stories about that place, and now he was being forcibly taken there. The thought made Ziggs a little ill.

* * *

Katarina, Talon and Ziggs stood in front of Swain. The first two were the height of formality; Ziggs was munching on a chicken leg. Jericho Swain sat behind a heavy wooden desk, piled high with letters, books and maps. Beatrice, his raven, crouched on the back of his ornate wooden chair, her multiple small black eyes glaring piercingly at the three stood in front of her.

Darius was sat on another chair near the door, not looking half as imposing without his axe and dressed in a grey robe. On the left hand side of the room, leaning against the window, stood a tall figure Katarina had never seen before. He was dressed in a red coat with a large collar, a red dress-shirt and a red and white-striped trousers finishing in elegant red boots. His angular face, framed by long white hair, was bowed towards the ground, his eyes closed. Though he had not spoken since they had entered the room, something about him radiated extreme power - and extreme danger. Katarina respected him, but did not trust him.

"Talon" began Swain "what did you find out from our friend?"

Talon relayed everything that Ezreal had told him in Piltover; how their adversary always seemed to arrive to turn the tide of battle when all hope seemed gone; how their was a king in the north who had met the warrior; how he was possibly an ancient warrior and appeared in the lore of multiple civilisations, including their own. Swain listened quietly, never interrupting, just nodding occasionally and glaring at Darius when it looked like he was going to interrupt. The red-clothed figure remained motionless the entire time, his head still bowed and eyes closed.

Talon finished his tale and a silence fell over the room. Swain remained silent, his hands clasped in an arc, his eyes staring blankly, deep in thought. Ziggs had finished eating and was now looking around the room uncertainly.

"Very well" said Swain slowly. "I believe we must talk to this northern king, and find out what he knows. If this figure is truly an ancient being, perhaps he may help us find and eliminate him."

"How many men are we sending?" asked Katarina eagerly.

Swain looked up at her. "You."

Katarina started. "Me? Alone? Against the entire Freljord?"

"No. You will have Talon and Darius alongside you." At this, Darius grinned. "Vladimir" said Swain, turning to the red man. "You shall go also"

Vladimir moved for the first time since they had entered the room; he looked up at Swain, considered for a moment, then nodded.

"One final question though" said Swain. "Your Yordle friend. Why did you bring him here?"

Ziggs had stopped his nervous glances and was now standing rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on Beatrice.

"I had a feeling the Freljord would be our next target. They say the ice there is harder than stone - I felt this one's ability with explosives may have come in useful."

Swain nodded and gave a faint smile. "Very well. He shall also go with you. Take him to the arsenal and see what they have to spare."

At this, Ziggs managed to force a grin, though he was still looking at Beatrice with a look on his face that very much suggested he wanted to leave before he got eaten.

"Go" said Swain, who had picked up on the Yordle's discomfort. Ziggs did not need telling twice - he turned and scurried off as fast as he could. Darius stood, as did Vladimir.

"We'll leave tomorrow" said Darius. Katarina could tell that he was looking forward to the thrill of the chase, much more the chase of the warrior who had bested him. Darius was a dangerously insane man, but to have him on your team was a blessing - to have him on your tail was a different matter. Without another word, the four unlikely companions left Swain's office.

Swain waited a moment, then smiled to himself. "Beatrice." he said to his bird "Send one of your flock. Follow them. Those five have the potential to change Runeterra as we know it."

Beatrice cawed loudly and flew away.

* * *

Darius plunged another foot into the ankle deep snow. They had been travelling through the Ironspike Mountains to avoid any unwanted attention, especially from Demacia. When Darius was younger he had heard stories from other orphans about the herds of Yeti that dwell in the Ironspike Mountains ; as much as Darius now believed that there was no such thing, he was still uneasy about traversing the snow-covered peaks.

Up ahead, Katarina and Talon were scouting out their way, their bodies now thicker due to the winter clothes they were forced to wear. Vladimir was walking just ahead of Darius; for some reason the three of them were having no trouble moving through the snow, but Darius' legs were getting tired and he was starting to fall behind. It didn't help that the Yordle was sat on his back, perched on the ridge of his armour.

Over his head, Darius heard a loud screech. He looked up to see an enormous bird, much bigger than any he had even seen before. It must have been many miles up in the sky, and yet Darius could still make out it's elegant form circling around high above the peaks of the mountains.

"What's that?" asked Ziggs.

"It's a Cryophoenix" replied Katarina. Vladimir looked sharply at her.

"Do not jest. The Cryophoenixes are long gone from this world. It cannot be."

"And yet, there she is. She must be as old as these mountains where she has made her home."

There was a sharp crack from the range above them which made them all stop dead. They had been warned of the dangers of avalanches, and if one started now they were done for.

A huge quantity of ice slammed to the ground just behind Darius. He dived forwards, sending Ziggs tumbling into the snow. A fearsome roar tore through the air. Katarina and Talon had their blades drawn and were searching for the enemy.

A massive snowball came arcing from the cliff edge above them, and would have carried Katarina off the edge of the mountain had she not flash-stepped out of the way in the nick of time. Now roars were coming from all around. Ziggs was pulling out a large quantity of bombs from the sack on his back, but Vladimir stopped him.

"An explosion could bring the entire mountain down on us!"

Suddenly a huge blue creature swung itself over the ridge and landed in between Darius and Vladimir. It was well over six feet tall, it's fur a deep shade of blue. It locked it's eyes on Darius and bellowed at him, it's teeth long and eyes wild. On it's roar, more of it's allies leapt down. One landed behind Talon, it's feet lashing out as it dropped, kicking Talon in the head. Another hurled a snowball at Katarina; she dodged out of the way, but another grabbed her from behind, slamming it's fist into the side of her head. She fell to the ground and lay still.

Darius grabbed his axe and looked around him. The Yeti that had landed on Talon had hoisted him over his shoulder - the assassin was out cold, but still seemed to be alive. Another one had picked up Ziggs and was holding him caged in it's gigantic hands. The last thing Darius saw before he felt a gigantic hand punch into his ribcage was Vladimir lashing out furiously with the blades attached to his fingers. Then all went black.

* * *

Darius stood in the great hall of Rakelstake; the walls were carved out of solid ice, the reflections cast by the simmering material making the hall seem much bigger than it actually was. Sat in front of him were the king and queen of Freljord. Tryndamere was giving him an evil look - Ashe was far more at ease, though not exactly relaxed.

"Welcome, Noxians" said Ashe. Her lyrical voice echoed somewhat sinisterly through the ice hall.

"Welcome?" Darius snarled. "If we were truly welcome, you would not have had us hunted, ambushed and brought here like game to the slaughter." Darius shot an evil look at the boy sitting on his Yeti.

Ashe sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, Darius noticed Tryndamere had grinned evilly at his words. "It is regrettable that we have had to meet in such circumstances. But the relations between our people have been under strain for years, even since the ceasefire." At this, Ashe looked at Katarina.

Darius was about to speak, but Vladimir interjected. "It matters not." he said quickly "We have come here to speak with you, and now we are here."

"What did you wish to speak about?" asked Ashe

"It was not, in fact, you that we wished to talk to milady" replied Vladimir "but your husband"

Tryndamere, who had barely been paying attention to the conversation, now sat up in his chair and eyed the Noxians warily.

"And what was it you wished to say?" he asked haughtily.

From within his cloak, Talon took out the small carved figure that Ezreal had given him, and threw it to Tryndamere. The barbarian had barely caught the figure before his eyes blazed with anger.

"And what would you ask me about him?" asked Tryndamere, through gritted teeth, his eyes still fixed on the statue.

"I fought him" replied Darius. "He bested me, but only with the aid of Garen Crownguard. Our lord, Jericho Swain, believes this warrior to be a threat to Valoran that cannot be allowed to go unchallenged."

Tryndamere snorted sarcastically. "You're going to kill him?"

"Yes." said Talon bluntly.

Tryndamere was about to answer when there was an enormous crash, and a Freljordian stumbled through the doors of the hall. The Noxians wheeled round - Ziggs screamed.

"My lord, my lady, it's-" hurried the soldier. His leather armour was ripped in places, his hair dishevelled.

"Peace. What is wrong?" asked Ashe calmly.

"It's the Howling Abyss. There's an army of Trolls on the march there. The largest we've ever seen."

Tryndamere jumped to his feet. Ashe looked at him and then nodded.

"I will talk more with you on my return" said Tryndamere to Darius.

"Let us go with you" interjected Katarina. "We may not have always been allies, but it would seem rude to not help you protect your kingdom, now we are here"


	5. Chapter 5

Tryndamere stood looking down the length of the bridge that spanned the Howling Abyss. On the other side was a huge congregation of trolls, the largest that Tryndamere had ever seen. He could see their blue forms loping around at the far edge, their cruel mouths snapping and their primitive weapons whirling about in the air.

"Tell me again why you are here?" he said, turning. He felt a hot breath on his shoulder and glared into the eyes of an enormous boar. Bristle's evil little eyes glared menacingly at him, his enormous tusks jabbing out from his cruel mouth. Sejuani pulled at his reins and he grunted and moved away slightly from Tryndamere.

"This is my kingdom as much as yours." she snapped back. "I must say, I'm surprised you are here. I would have thought you had spent so much time preaching peace with Ashe that you had lost the urge to fight completely."

Tryndamere snorted. "Mock all you like bitch, but you know as much as me that if I have to fight to protect my kingdom, I will."

Sejuani was silent for a moment. "You married the wrong queen." she replied quietly.

Tryndamere looked at her in amazement, but before he could reply he felt a large hand clap him on the shoulder.

"Look who it is" grunted Olaf. "The barbarian queen!"

"I realise that you may not know what it's like to have a wash, berserker, but you should try it. Your enemies will die from your stench before your little hatchets." replied Tryndamere, carefully removing Olaf's hand from his shoulder.

"Thy get the job done, and don't make it look like I'm compensating for something."

"Don't worry Olaf, maybe one day you'll find a woman who doesn't look like Bristle here."

"Thankfully I don't want to be lapdog to some whore that doesn't like violence. The women that get into my bed could snap that puny wench of yours in a second."

"That's because they're not women, my friend. The clue is in the beard."

Tryndamere could see his retorts were getting Olaf more and more enraged. At that last, Olaf grabbed one of the axes slung over his back, but Sejuani stopped him before he could draw it.

"Stop, both of you. Save it for those monsters over there. There will be plenty of time to bicker afterwards."

Olaf glared at Tryndamere, his blood still high, but he let go of the axe.

Before they could say another word, there was an enormous below. All sound ceased. Tryndamere looked out over the expanse of the bridge to see a huge troll, bigger than the rest and wielding a large club forged out of one massive slab of ice, standing at the front of his brethren. At another roar from him, the trolls poured forward onto the bridge, their infernal cries and howls echoing around the abyss below.

Tryndamere laughed loudly. He pulled his sword from out of it's scabbard, the enormous blade glinting in the reflection of the ice. Olaf had drawn his axes and Bristle was grunting and pacing the floor, eager to charge.

With a cry of "Freljord!" he ran forward, blade poised behind him, ready to strike. Behind him, he felt the thundering of the warriors behind him, each one ready to slaughter these mindless beasts that had come to their lands.

The clash of the two sides meeting rang around the Abyss, the clang of steel on steel blending with the bellows of the trolls and humans alike. Tryndamere had already picked his target, a particularly mean looking troll wielding a crudely made axe. He blocked the downward swing of the beast, the force that he blocked with his massive sword enough to break the arm of a lesser man. Tryndamere ducked low, narrowly avoiding the lunge of a nearby troll. He pivoted on the ball of his right foot, bringing his sword around in a double-handed slice that severed the spine of the troll, the beast's torso falling to the floor with a wet thud. As he came back up, he brought his sword back down, neatly decapitating the troll who had lunged clumsily at him earlier.

Over to his right, Tryndamere saw the Noxian knight slam the butt of his axe into a trolls face. The beast howled in pain, it's nose broken, and as it turned to run the Noxian sliced downwards with his axe, slicing through the troll's calf. Before the beast could fall, a circular throwing blade flicked out of nowhere and thudded into it's neck, silencing it instantly. The shadowy assassin Tryndamere had seen earlier slipped silently passed him, almost moving further than Tryndamere was able to follow, and effortlessly slit the throat of a beast that was midway through hitting Tryndamere with it's club.

All around him, the Freljord troops had halted the ferocious advance of the trolls, and on the narrow bridge spanning the Howling Abyss, their numerical advantage counted for nothing. Tryndamere turned to see one of Sejuani's soldiers, no more than a boy, impale a trolls with his spear. No sooner had he done this than a troll with an axe almost as large as the Noxian's lashed out and beheaded the boy. Tryndamere felt his anger rising; the lad might not have been of his tribe, but he was Freljord, and who were these damn trolls to be slaughtering his bretheren? Tryndamere let out a cry that was so full of primal anger, it could have been a cry of one of the beasts. He leapt into the air, diving straight at the troll, swinging his sword in a two-handed arc over his head as he flew, swinging it down into the troll's skull. He felt the bone give way and the blade pass into the soft brain of the troll. The beasts around him fled at the sight as he retrieved his sword, the edge still dripping with blood and worse.

Without even properly realizing it, he blocked the clumsy swing of a troll who tried to cut him in half at the wait. The jar of the troll's weapon on his snapped him back to reality and he slammed his hand into the troll's face, breaking it's nose with one punch. Tryndamere lunged with both hands, hoping to skewer the beast. At the last second though, his stab was turned away by another troll who knocked the blade away from it's companion with it's club. The force knocked Tryndamere off balance, and he stumbled right into another troll.

He recollected himself immediately and stood up, but something had changed. The world seemed to be muffled, as though he were listening to it with a cloak wrapped around his head. He looked down. The troll he had bumped into had it's jaws buried in his throat. A rush of red was spewing forth, soaking both him and the troll. The edge of his vision began to lose colour. The troll pulled away and Tryndamere saw it's mouth full of what had once been his throat. The creature grinned.

Tryndamere fell to his knees. The world was swimming. The only sound he could hear was the rush of his own blood as it pooled on the ground around him. Was this it? Was this how he was to die? He had fought a thousand battles and survived, and now he was to be bested by a dumb troll on this Gods-forsaken bridge? It didn't seem fair.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't going to happen. These creatures come into his land, threaten his people, his wife, and were to get his life to boot? No. He would not allow it. Tryndamere clenched his fist. These Noxians had finally told him about that demon as well, the one who had taken everything from him, the reason he had been so angry for so long. He felt that anger once again, the incandescent rage that burned through his very bones like a fire. He clenched his fists. Maybe once he had got answers and defended his home, he could rest, but not yet. The world swam back into his vision, and Tryndamere was dimly aware of shouting going on around him. Where was that damn troll? He would carve the beast into a thousand pieces and throw the thing into the abyss! Tryndamere gritted his teeth and clasped his hand around the handle of his sword.

The rage was now coursing through him, taking him over completely and utterly, more powerful than any blood. He gritted his teeth and got to his knees. The trolls in front of him saw a man with half of his throat missing, though rapidly healing itself, covered in his own blood, stand up and look around with eyes that were completely red.

Tryndamere saw the troll, his vision covered by a red veil. The beast had a look of complete terror on it's inhuman face. Good. It was time for a slaughter.

* * *

_He smiled faintly to himself as he surveyed the battlefield. He had been following these Noxians for some time, ever since He had seen the fight with the Demacians and the Darkin. It had been a long time since He had seen one of their kind in this realm, so long that their very existence had passed out of living memory. But He was never really alive._

_As He looked out across the bridge where the battle had been fought hours before, the silence complete around Him, the mist rising from the abyss below was broken by the sparking of tiny lights. First one, then another, until most of the bridge was illuminated by the tiny glowing balls of light. These humans would never learn. But He didn't want them too. If the archer succeeded, and peace in the Frozen Wastes was established, He would lose out on so much! At least the Two Cities would always be at each other's throats. And while they were, He would be there too._

_He walked slowly and calmly across the bridge; He was in no hurry. Life had a funny way of always seeming to move at the pace he wanted it too. As He walked, the little balls of light started to float towards Him, like the heads of flowers floating downstream. When they reached Him, they paused for a moment, as if unsure where to go. They were always unsure. He extended His left arm, and the iron lantern he bore as his charge glowed blue with a light no living man had seen in decades. The little balls of light shuddered for a second, and with a faint sound that sounded like a distant scream, were absorbed into the lantern._

_Up ahead of Him, He heard a faint gurgling. Illuminated by the glow that now spanned the entire bridge, save for where He had already walked, He saw a figure lying on the ground, a troll. It was lying face down, but was making efforts at lifting itself up. The poor beast had either not realised, or did care that there was a large shard of ice, fashioned into a spear, sticking out of one of it's lungs. He walked slowly over to it; this was the part he truly enjoyed. As the troll tried once more to pick itself up, He knelt beside it. Gently he placed a hand on it's shoulder. With a precision known only to those that have practised such a thing, he placed the blade of his sickle up against the troll's throat. The grunts of pain now turned to grunts of panic and desperation. The blade passed slowly across the neck of the troll, the blade as sharp as it had been when it was first forged. He felt the life slowly leaving the troll, and watched as the life left it's body, flowing with the crimson stream that poured out onto the dark blue stone. _

_He stood up, waiting patiently. After a few seconds, another little light slowly rose from the troll's body, making it's way straight into His lantern._

_He continued along the bridge, making His way towards the other side. He didn't know exactly where the Noxians would be going, but all He had to do was follow the path of death and lights they left in their wake._

_Life had a funny way of always moving at the pace he wanted it to._


End file.
